


dancing's not a crime

by peculiarblue



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: 4 + 1 things because i couldnt commit to 5 lol, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Homecoming, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Prom, Skateboarding, Slow Dancing, all the tropes in here folks!, and so is ricky but she's oblivious, but still kinda follows canon?, gina is crushing soooo hard!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22315375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: unless you do it without me(a few times Gina helps Ricky with his 2 left feet, and one time Ricky sweeps her off hers)
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/Gina Porter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 182





	dancing's not a crime

**Author's Note:**

> guys... ricky and gina... they got me... they GOT me... this was so genuinely fun to write, you have no idea. i've been having a weird past couple months, and writing used to be my escape, but for a while it was stressful and i hated everything i was doing, until THIS! ricky and gina really are just THAT powerful. 
> 
> changes to canon because if you're gonna do rina fluff you might as well go big or go home AM I RIGHT??? 
> 
> also i know nothing about skating so i apologize in advance for that part of this story.
> 
> okay, that's probably all you wanna hear from me, i can't wait to overanalyze rina scenes until s2 drops out and try to convert my sister from being rini. wish me luck y'all! enjoy a little fluff to kick off our 10 month hiatus!!
> 
> <3
> 
> (title from 'dancing's not a crime' by panic! at the disco)

_**1\. Homecoming** _

_Your life is not a movie. It is not a movie, not any kind, especially not one that involves a master plan coming together exactly when she needs it to._

_Your life is not a movie_ , Gina reminds herself, shaking bright red punch from her hands and making a speedy getaway for the exit, _but hell if that’s going to stop her from acting like it_.

Her movie-not-a-movie life is feeling pretty plotless right now, her plan having no direction, not a single person keeping her here in this bright red and overcrowded gym, and her heels feeling less and less like a power-move the longer she has to stand in them. Seems about as good a time as any for a dramatic exit and _end scene_. Sure, the ‘punch-dump’ was not one of her finer moments, but guy deserved it. Probably. For a reason she’s still trying to come up with.

The hallway’s a lot quieter, a lot airier, gives her a chance to breathe out as she shrugs her long purple coat on.

And there it is, the end of the page, _end scene_ , just as she’s queuing her mom’s number up on her phone when—

“Hey, um, are you, uh, are you leaving?”

Enter Ricky Bowen, tie kinda crooked and hair definitely out of place, hands shoved in his pockets and the soles of his sneakers distractedly drawing shapes on the tiled floor. And in the most shocking turn of events, with his big doe eyes right on her, Gina Porter.

She looks over one shoulder, because _no way_ he’s _really_ looking at her. She feels her ponytail swing against her back when she looks back, nervously bites her bottom lip and avoids returning eye contact, answers with a resoundingly lame “Yeah.” Good one, Porter.

“Oh, okay,” he nods, his hair flops, begging her to stare just a split second longer, and he looks a little sad when he finished his thought, “Okay, yeah, then I’ll just—“

“I mean, I’m leaving,” she gestures around with one hand, trying to find words and epically failing, “But like not _leaving_. At this exact moment.”

He laughs lightly, and _oh my god you are not in a rom-com you are not in a rom-com you are not in a—_ “Right, so then would it be cool if I stole this exact moment to apologize?”

Huh. An interesting development. I mean, he hadn’t exactly been _wrong_ when he called her out for her overly ambitious attitude, or the admittedly low-blow it was to go after Nini’s ex so suddenly for a plan that she was still waiting to take shape. Not wrong, no, but loud, yeah. But he was a heartbroken guy and she was a background character in his epic love story, _definitely_ a rom-com, so she didn’t think he’d have room in the script for an apology.

But okay, sure, Ricky Bowen, she’s got time.

She nods once and purses her lips, “Okay, I’m listening.”

It’s quiet, as quiet as it could be with the music from the gym still flowing in, and Ricky’s eyes just grow wider, shrugging a shoulder, “Oh, uh, that was actually it, the apology.”

Someone _please_ end this scene. For the poor boy’s sake.

She tries to stifle her unimpressed but not surprised scoff, and is mostly unsuccessful, just as Ricky steps forward, the space between them a lot smaller now, “Look, who you hang out with, or don’t hang out with, isn’t any of my business.”

“Then why are you making it your business?” she’s harsher than she intends, but if she can’t even be the heroine of her own story, how can she be any more in Ricky’s?

“Good question,” Ricky chuckles nervously, shaking his head and the way that one curl flops, Gina knows he doesn’t need to beg for her attention, he just _has it_ , “I don’t know. It’s like, I’m an outsider to the theater stuff, right? And you’re like, an outsider to East High.”

Oh, we’re getting somewhere here. Get your popcorn ready.

He sighs lightly, and Gina holds his eyes when he continues, just above a whisper, “I thought we sort of, like, got each other.”

It doesn’t feel accusatory at all, not harsh, not really anything at all. It kind of just sits there in the air, and tugs at something inside Gina in a way she’s starting to think might be tugging at him too.

She tries to train her voice to be softer when she answers, “I mean, we did, until you came for me.”

“Yeah,” he rushes to add, his hand inching out to her in the space between them, “I’m sorry.”

She wants to squeeze his free hand like he’s squeezing her heart right now.

“My uh, everything’s just—“ he lets out a large breath, “My world’s been a little upside down lately. At home, too. It’s a whole… _thing_.”

She’s not sure what gets her to say it, really, because she was supposed to _end scene_ so long ago and she has a perfect out right here, right now. But she smiles sadly at him and says, “You’re not the only one with home problems.”

“Well, I didn’t need to add to yours.”

Huh. This was… yeah. An interesting development. Confusing. But also, everything was coming to her like it all made perfect sense.

So she takes a step back and gestures for him to follow, “Give me a ride home and we’ll call it even.”

The fall air is cold (but welcome, Gina thinks, after whatever _that_ was) as she walks outside the school and towards the parking lot, Ricky on her tail.

“If you’re a terrible driver, now would be the time to share with the class,” she jokes, her confidence returning to her with space between them.

“Bold of you to assume I can even drive,” he jokes back, catching up and falling into step next to her. She laughs, but he keeps it up, looking down at her seriously, “You didn’t think I was _driving_ you home, did you? In a _car_? Rookie mistake, Porter”

“My bad,” she says, “What would a car do to your skater boy image?”

“Absolutely destroy it, obviously,” he nods, kicking at the pebbles on the gravel as they walk, “My fragile ego rests solely on how badass I look leaving a school dance.”

“So we’re traveling by, what? Skateboard?” She laughs, and Ricky smiles wider than she ever remembers.

“That’s the only way. You don’t happen to have a spare helmet in your coat pocket, do you?”

“Can’t say I do,” she hums, and he shakes his head with mock disapproval.

“Well, you’ll just have to trust me I guess,” he says, before he’s looking up at the sky like he’s tracing a the stars they cannot see, “Actually, there was this one time, I was trying to be super romantic, and Red helped me tie two skateboards together and Nini—“

He cuts himself off abruptly, his face falling back to staring at the ground just as quickly as the smile falls off it. He clears his throat, nervously. Gina finds the white lines of the parking lot very interesting all of a sudden.

Nothing like a good reminder she is just a side character in the epic love story that is Ricky and Nini.

“Well, this is it,” Ricky saves them both from drowning in the newfound awkward silence by nodding to the brightest, most obnoxious orange buggy Gina has ever seen.

“Now I see your concern.”

The joke is light enough that Ricky manages a smile, and a sarcastic wave, “You chariot awaits, Miss Porter.”

“Oh my god,” Gina rolls her eyes, listening for the click of the doors unlocking then slipping into the passenger seat, “I don’t think this is what girls mean when they say they want to feel like Cinderella. I’m literally sitting in a pumpkin.”

“And it’s not even midnight,” Ricky chuckles, turning his key in the ignition before leaning back in his seat, “But I _do_ have to be back here before then to pick up Big Red. This is technically his car.”

It’s Gina’s turn to be stunned into silence. Why was he—

“Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t—“ she shakes her head, one hand on the door handle and the other fishing for her phone to call her mom, “I didn’t realize—“

“No, no, wait, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” Ricky shakes his head.

“Ricky, don’t be ridiculous, I’m not going to make you drive me home just for you to drive back here,” Gina says, the door clicking open, and she looks down at her Mom’s contact on her phone screen, “My mom’s home, she can be here in like, 5 minutes.”

“Seriously, Gina, you’re actually doing _me_ a favor,” And Gina looks up just in time to see another one of those trademark Ricky Bowen sad smiles. He continues, “I don’t really think I could stay in there any more. It’s like— I don’t know, my dad had the right idea telling me to come tonight, and Red means well, and everyone’s cool, it’s just like—“

“No one gets it.”

“Yeah,” Ricky nods, “Well, not no one. You do.”

Gina swears she has never felt something like this before, this unexplainable _need_ to just hug someone. It’s like Ricky is pulling her to him, not that there’s much space there to begin with, this very small car. But she wants there to be less. Less space. And usually she’s constantly trying to create more.

“What time is this thing supposed to be over?”

Ricky looks at her questioningly, but mutters, “Uh, I think there’s like, half an hour left?”

“I’ll text my mom to pick me up in half an hour.”

Ricky leans back in his seat, and Gina tries not to let the space disappoint her (seriously, it’s one boy in an ugly orange car, _get a grip,_ Porter). He tucks his chin to the side to face her and almost giggles, “Thank you.”

Gina shrugs, “I’m mostly just waiting to see if this _really_ turns into a pumpkin.”

“No,” he says through a laugh, “I mean, yeah, thanks for this but uh, I kinda owe you a thank you.”

“For what?”

“You’re the reason I stayed with the show,” Ricky says, and shifts in his seat to face her better, “That night at the skate park, you set me straight and um… it’s been a big deal for me. The uh, the ‘Troy’ thing.”

This is getting uncharacteristically deep for a side plot, so for a brief second Gina says screw it, and leans into his space, “Well, it suits you.”

He echoes her smile when he says, “Hmm, yeah, I still don’t know all the theater terms. I don’t know, it’s just, _nice_ , to have somewhere to go after school every day, you know?”

“I know,” she nods because she does, she gets it, “Believe me.”

“Yeah,” he says, “Um, before we end this terrible _downer_ of a conversation,” and Gina likes the way he has to stop to laugh, fills up the space around them, “What was that big blow up all about with you and your… _date_?”

Good question Ricky, what _was_ it about? Gina sits hard pressed for an answer. The Plan Without A Plan had kinda blown up in her face, or rather, on EJ’s face, in the form of sticky fruit punch. But Ricky was smiling at her like that, and there really wasn’t much to say about the whole thing, so she presses her elbows on the console between their seats and laughs, “I already forgot about it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t do dates, if that was not abundantly clear,” Gina shakes her head, “It’s hard enough to make friends. Try moving five schools in seven years.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well,” Gina starts, giving into whatever kind of weird magic is going on between them right now, “I’m sitting in a bright orange car with Troy Bolton to avoid a school dance with people who hate me, so I guess I’m learning?”

“That’s the spirit!” Ricky says brightly, “You’re just lucky we got out of there before we had to witness Big Red’s dance moves.”

“Honestly, I think Big Red’s holding out on us,” Gina nods, “He’s got potential.”

“I promise you, Gina, he’s hiding nothing,” Ricky shakes his head, laughing fondly, “The other night I was over his house, trying to teach him some dances—“

“I’m sorry, _you_ were teaching Red how to _dance?_ ”

“Woah woah woah— what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Gina shrugs, feigning innocence.

“No, no, what are you trying to say?” He laughs and Gina hides her smile in the headrest before looking back up at him.

“I just think it shouldn’t come to you as a shock that Red can’t dance if _you_ were his teacher.”

“Ouch, Gina, _ouch_ ,” Ricky clutches a hand to his chest as Gina continues to dissolve into laughter, “I thought you liked my style!”

“I said you had your ‘own style’. Doesn’t mean you can dance,” Gina admits, mostly joking.

“I’ll have you know, Red and I _crushed_ the middle school slow dance in his basement.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Can never go wrong with a little step and snap,” Ricky eyes her, and snaps animatedly to some imaginary beat in his seat, “If you wanna get fancy you can add a clap.”

“That the best you got, Bowen? Some clapping? I know Carlos did not make you practice ‘Getcha Head In The Game’ blindfolded for nothing!”

“We’re not gonna talk about that practice _ever_ again. I’m still finding bruises,” Ricky points then uses his left hand to swing the door to his side open.

“Where are you going?” Gina questions, still in her seat.

“To show you how _wrong_ you are,” he yells before shutting the door, “Prepare to have you mind blown.”

What is going on? What has her life come to? Why is this happening? Her and Ricky Bowen? In the parking lot of East High at Homecoming? Is she dreaming? All questions for another time, it seems, as Gina’s body seems to have a mind of its own, and next thing she knows, she’s shutting her door and running around the back of the car to meet Ricky in the empty spot beside them.

“Okay, show me what you got,” she smirks, and Ricky makes a show of getting ready.

“I like to start with a little shimmy action, you know, get the muscles warmed up,” Ricky shimmies his shoulders forward, his arms at his side, then bounces back, “Red was actually okay with this one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Ricky smiles, and reaches out to pull Gina into his space, not missing a beat, “You ready for the corkscrew?”

“I have never heard of a dance move called the corkscrew.”

“Me either, I just made it up,” Ricky spins one arm and throws it back, stepping together and then forward. Gina just watches him, stunned, and a little more speechless every time she feels his warm breath on her cheek because _he keeps getting closer_ and this is not good for her sanity.

“What’s next, the chicken dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” He yells, before devolving into an exaggerated version of the cheesy dance. He bumps his elbows into her side, and every time she dodges him with a laugh and a shriek, he catches her again.

“You know you wanna do it, Gina,” he wiggles his eyebrows at her, just as he’s ‘flapping his wings’ in her direction, and she resists the strong urge to join in.

“I’m more of a Macarena girl, I think,” she smirks.

“Really, because _I heard_ you’re more of a kick your face holding a red bedazzled lunch tray kind of girl.”

“Did you want me to teach you that one? So you could pass it off during your lessons with Big Red?”

“Yeah, yeah, lemme just, stretch first, you know, like a _real_ dancer,” Ricky lunges exaggeratedly, swings out his arms, and Gina needs both hands over her mouth to stifle her loud laugh, “Okay, yeah no, I surrender. You win this round.”

“What?” She’s half keeping up with the joke, half just not really wanting him to stop, _like ever_ , “Thought I was gonna get to see this middle school slow dance you crushed.”

“Well I need a partner,” Ricky eyes her pointedly, “And unless you wanna go home with a few broken toes…”

“So that’s what you meant by _crushing_ it?”

Ricky laughs, and even when it’s not contained to the small space between them in Red’s car, it’s still one of the best sounds Gina’s ever heard.

And no, her life may not be a movie, but god, _why_ does the universe keep tricking her into thinking it is one? Because there’s not much longer she can sit here, and believe that its not. Not with the flickering light making Ricky’s eye sparkle, his laugh echoing in her ears, a sky she swears there should be stars in and a blush on his face that’s probably not because of the cold fall air. Because one more second of this kind of bliss she’s never known and she’s gonna do something colossally stupid, like grab his hand or—

“Gina Porter, may I have this dance?” Gina looks up, breaks her rapid train of thought to see Ricky with one hand out to her, legs slightly bent like he’s trying to curtsy, and a wide smile on his face that’s meant just for her.

And so, she does the colossally stupid thing and grabs his hand.

He spins her under his arm just once before catching her around her left shoulder, arms extended between them like they’re in middle school and everything’s awkward, only it’s not really awkward, and the only music is the giggling between them. Seriously, Gina cannot stop giggling.

Its only when he looks up from watching their feet and coaching himself out loud to keep from stepping on her toes, only when his eyes find hers just inches apart, less space than Gina’s ever felt with anyone, that she stops giggling. Stops breathing altogether.

Ricky Bowen, what have you done?

She’s so close to just saying screw it again and kissing him right then and there, and honestly, she thinks Ricky’s following a similar train of thought, one of her fingers ghosting over a curl on the back of his neck and his hands rubbing gently on the waist of her coat.

“Ricky, I—“

Ricky’s phone blares to life, from it’s spot on the driver’s seat of the car, and that’s what does it. What snaps them away from each other, really does _end scene_ this time.

Ricky mumbles something Gina can’t process, shoves one hand nervously through his hair while he uses the other one to grab his phone.

“It’s Red, he’s uh, he’s coming out now. Dance died down, he said. Something about Carlos, and Seb, and a flash mob?”

“Sounds about right,” Gina says, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, we can still drive you home—“

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Gina shakes her head, “My mom’s on her way.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I texted her before, she’ll be here in a few minutes,” Gina checked the message that had light up her phone before tucking it back into her pocket, “Besides, how would I face Red after stealing his dance partner?”

Ricky laughs lightly, kicking at the pavement before leaning against the back of the car, his arms crossed, watching students trickle out of the school doors. Gina joins him on his right, her shoulder barely touching his, “And you didn’t even get to see the car turn into a pumpkin!”

“And you didn’t get to see my house,” Gina says, “You’ll be disappointed to hear we do not have wrought iron gates and a bunch of gargoyles.”

“Wow, that’s exactly what I was picturing!” he bumps his shoulder into hers, but they’re both still watching people flood into the parking lot, their little empty universe now filling up, “Nah, you’re not that scary.”

“Really?”

“You ran away when I was doing the chicken dance,” Ricky says, and Gina laughs, “You’ll never scare me again.”

Theres a silence that settles over them as their laughter dies down, it hangs and sits and makes Gina feel like she’s being pulled towards him again, like she’s flipped the page of the script and is in way new territory, without even realizing it.

She notices a car’s bright headlights in the corner of the lot, “Uh, that’s my ride. I should probably…”

“Yeah,” Ricky nods, his lips pressed together, looking at her.

Gina leans up and off the car, and is about to walk away, but that pull is there, and it snaps her back to him one more time.

“You know, I— I meant what I said, at the skate park, about you having your own style. I don’t even think I knew how much I meant it when I said it, but I’m glad something about it made you stay. It’s been a big deal for me too,” she nods once, twice, takes a deep breath, sees Red coming out of the school out of the corner of her and eye and thinks to herself, dammit it’s now or never.

So she leans up, presses a feather-light kiss to his cheek. He smells like fruit punch as she pulls away slightly, and his eyes rival the stars they cannot see in the sky.

“Goodnight, Ricky.”

And she stuffs her hands in her pocket and runs off to get in her mom’s car.

Once she’s far away enough to think clearly, there’s really only one thought running through Gina’s mind… What the _hell_ just happened?

_**2\. Save Miss Jenn! Rehearsals** _

“It’s left-right-left, right?”

“Say that one more time, but like, ten times slower…” Gina runs around the back of a chair and stands next to Ricky, who keeps stepping side to side and shaking his head in frustration.

“Left,” Ricky starts, stepping forward and pointing to Gina at his side.

“Right,” Gina nods slowly, bumping into him as she does it, trying to shake that scowl off his face and replace it with a laugh.

“Watch it, Porter! I’m fragile and am getting really fed up with counting to 8 on loop,” he says, but he _does_ laugh. Mission accomplished.

“Your letter writing campaign isn’t sounding so bad right now,” Gina shrugs, flopping into the chair and watching Ricky try to do a jazz square without tripping over his own feet.

“I have been known to have a good idea or two every now and then,” he taps his temple, smirking, “Not that anyone here agrees, if today’s rehearsal was any indication.”

The day had been kind of… a lot, to put it lightly. It was the first day back at school since the homecoming dance, and Gina had not been able to find enough confidence in the world to look at Ricky without wanting to crawl into a hole. Did he remember? Did he forget about the whole thing? Did he stay up in bed that night staring at the ceiling thinking about it? Did he get this awful knot in his stomach at random inexplainable moments over the entire weekend? Because yeah, Gina was not handling it well. She was hoping she was not alone on the issue.

Turns out she was not, and it took her like three whole seconds to reboot every nerve in her body after that bomb dropped (“I kinda haven’t been able to forget about anything that happened at homecoming,” ...I mean, seriously, dude? Seriously? Just like that?) But Ricky’s heart was a little off-kilter that day in more ways than one, it seemed, and that’s how they found themselves squeezed into any available room in Red’s basement orchestrating a big ‘save the day’ dance number.

Gina knows her life is not a movie, reminds herself every day, but really, it’s getting comical at this point.

It’s getting late, a bunch of people have already left to head home, but her mom’s working late and maybe Ricky’s gotten the same idea about avoiding home. Or maybe he’s just really _that bad_ at picking up dance steps.

“Hey, I _loved_ your song,” Gina says, snapping out of her thoughts, her head tilted on an arm of the plush orange chair.

“Not really _my_ song,” Ricky shrugs, taking a break from his failed jazz squares for the moment, “That’s all Vanessa Hudgens.”

“Look at you, name dropping HSM icons!” she teases him, knowing he’s never sat through a second of a musical he didn’t have to. It’s endearing. Sue her.

“Very funny, Ryan would not be impressed with my jazz squares right now.”

“Oh my god, who are you, and what have you done with Ricky Bowen?”

“Shut up,” he nudges her in her seat, “Move over, I’m taking five.”

“You’re such a _theater kid_ ,” she says, but complies, pushes herself to one side to make as much room as possible for him on the small chair. Which, by all means, is not much. Like at all. But he squeezes into the spot, his whole body pressed up against hers, their toes knocking against each other on the floor.

“You take that back _right now!_ ” He huffs dramatically, slinging one arm over the back of the chair, and thus, around Gina’s shoulders. _Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths_.

“Never, you’re one of us now,” she smiles, leaning closer to him, “I’d seriously listen to you sing 2006 musical songs on your guitar whenever.”

“Whenever? Like I could just burst into angsty pop at any moment?”

“Theater kid perks.”

“The guitar is a little bulky to carry around,” he shrugs, and oh my god, does he realize his fingers are not on the chair, they’re on her arm? Does he realize that? Does he realize he can’t just sit there and trace small circles on her arm while they talk about how dreamy he sounds singing a Vanessa Hudgens song on his guitar?

Apparently, he does not, because he keeps doing it, while Gina tries to steady herself with a breath, “Like every good theater kid in a musical, your instrument of choice will just appear at your command.”

“So that’s where the cello comes from in the middle of ’Stick to the Status Quo’!”

“Now you’re watching musical scenes you’re not even in?” Gina laughs up at him, eyes wide, “Seriously, are you feeling okay?” She presses the back of her hand to his forehead to check for a fever, jokingly, of course, as _bros_ do, you know? And Ricky may not have a fever, but she is feeling warm all over at the subtle contact.

He laughs and pushes her hand down, resting both of their hands on top of one of his legs, “I’m actually feeling a lot better now.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, sorry if I freaked out on you before,” he says quietly, and Gina isn’t really sure what he’s apologizing for. She wouldn’t really call anything about their conversation in the rehearsal room a ‘freak out’. But maybe he’s spiraling and overthinking it all, a practice not uncommon for Gina herself.

“You don’t ever have to apologize to me, Ricky.”

“Ever?” He notes, eyes twinkling.

And maybe she’s joking, but part of her kind of means it. There’s nothing she wouldn’t forgive this guy for (oh yeah, she’s _that deep_.) So she smiles and says, “Everyone needs one person like that. One person who just gets it. No questions asked.”

“I didn’t think people like that existed.”

“Well then, today is your lucky day, I guess,” she smiles, “Feel free to freak out or yell or shut down or step on my toes whenever, really. I’m your person.”

And there it is again, that pull, that little tug on her heart that is telling her there’s way too much space between her and this boy, too much space when they’re literally glued together in a seat made for one person, virtually no space at all. He’s looking at her like he’s gonna kiss her again, and Gina knows she’d comply if Nini weren’t literally three feet away writing lyrics for a song to save a show that will keep her and Ricky’s love story on track. The universe is cruel.

“This was a really sweet moment and all but don’t think I missed you subtly throwing shade at my dance moves. _Again_ ,” Ricky laughs, his fingers back to fiddling with the hem of her sweater.

Gina taps her toes against his, scuffing the while rubber of his Vans, “Dude, Carlos putting you up on a cafeteria table for that dance break was the best decision of his short choreography career.”

“My frail and fragile ego cannot handle you, Gina Porter,” he clutches a hand dramatically to his heart.

“So are we gonna sit here and let your ego bruise, or are you gonna let me teach you that one 8-count you can’t get before Red kicks us out?” Gina says, and starts to stand to do just that.

But there’s a hand on her wrist pulling her down abruptly, and she’s practically sitting on Ricky’s lap after it.

“Nope, I think we’re just gonna sit here.”

Gina laughs at him, turning her head to get a better look at his smirk, her body half on the seat and half still on Ricky where he pulled her down to stay with him.

“When Carlos kicks you out of this dance…”

“ _Please_ , even EJ, who spends the entire song sitting in the audience doing nothing, gets to be in the big finish, I think I’ll be fine.”

“I cannot believe you just used ‘the big finish’ un-ironically. I’m starting to question this—“

“Woah, wait, I thought there were no questions here…” he teases, nudging her shoulder.

Being _whatever this is_ with Ricky Bowen takes a strength Gina did not know she had. Seriously. And it’s like, day three.

“Okay, then no questions asked, what are we doing now, my guy?”

She hopes he doesn’t take that the wrong way, the name, the slip-up.

And either he doesn’t, or by some sheer stroke of luck Gina doesn’t think she deserves, he likes it, so he wiggles to make room for her to sit on the small chair with him properly again, and resumes his position with one arm draped lazily behind her, only this time, he curls more closely into her. It’s comfortable, his presence at her side, calming even. And if she caves into his touch more affectionally than she probably should, well then that’s no one’s business but her own.

“Continuing our break,” Ricky nods, she feels his chin on the top of her head, “I am never dancing again after this.”

“You know we’re doing this literally to save a show. A show that you lead several dances in, _Troy_.”

“Like anyone’s gonna care about my lame basketball dance when your insane tray-ography is right there, _Taylor_ ,” he answers, “Seriously, it’s impossible to watch anything but you, in most scenes, but definitely that one.”

“Shut up and enjoy your break,” she says, flustered, not knowing how to take this compliment, because she’s never gotten a compliment like that before, from a friend, or whatever Ricky is to her right now, “Because I am not leaving this house until you get that jazz square.”

“ _It’s a crowd favorite. Everybody loves a good jazz square_ ,” he hums, and Gina tosses her head back in laughter.

“Seriously, have you been watching the movie in your sleep?”

“What can I say, I’m a theater kid now,” he shrugs, “I commit.”

Ricky takes his ‘break’ literally, it seems, as Gina watches his eyes flutter shut, and she sighs back in her chair.

And as she watches the rest of her remaining cast mates bustle around, the world stands still in her small chai, just like it did last Friday night. Ricky Bowen is a force, that’s for sure.

This could either go really amazingly, or really terribly.

(The way he literally spins her in the air after the dance the next day? Terribly amazing, indeed.)

**_3\. Prom_ **

Gina used to have to remind herself that her life wasn’t a movie, but lately the focus has shifted to reminding herself it’s not _a sappy rom-com_.

Drama at an all time high? Yes. Definitely. She was flown back to Salt Lake on a moment’s notice and thrown into the show in the middle of a dance break and then pseudo-adopted by the Caswells to finish out her time at East High until her mom figured out her job situation. So yes, drama at every turn when you’re least expecting it, right?

But a _romantic_ drama? Definitely not. And _that_ she needed reminding of.

Because just when she was cool calm and collected enough to tell Ricky exactly what she’d been feeling, how she knew whatever they were was probably not as platonic as they were tricking themselves into being, and that she liked it, _liked him_ , she caught him walking out of the school holding Nini’s hand, all smiley and giggly and happy and whatever.

There’s the rom-com of East High. Ricky and Nini. Of course.

She snapped herself out of it and found it in her to be genuinely happy, because believe it or not, Nini was her friend now, and she supposes Ricky is too, and if she can’t have her own rom-com, she’d enjoy the time she had being a part of someone else’s, right?

Only thing is, like three days later, she’s not really sure how the rom-com of Ricky and Nini ended.

Nini’s gone. Like not present. At all. She looks for her at her locker the morning the get back from winter break, because she found this cute sweater that didn’t fit her anymore and Nini would look so good in it, and that’s what friends do, right? Gina is getting good at _friends_ now and she likes it, genuinely, but Nini never shows.

Turns out Nini’s been writing the plot of her epic heroine adventure on the side, and it was time for that plot to take off. YAC was calling her and who was Ricky, or anyone at East High, really, to stop her from chasing that dream down with stars in her eyes?

Good for her, really. Girl had major pipes.

She gives the sweater to Kourtney to thrift into something fabulous, and Gina keeps finding friends after all. It’s nice, really nice.

Only, this leaves her and Ricky in a much messier place than if Nini had stayed. She’s not really sure where the couple stands, if they even are a couple, so many miles apart. And so Gina finds it harder and harder to keep from slipping into rom-com mentality by the minute. Tricking herself into thinking things might actually work out for her, now.

Because they hang out constantly, with the guys from the play, and without, in small groups and big groups and without anyone at all, with Nini on FaceTime or FaceTiming each other from their beds.

It’s weird, Gina thinks, that its not more complicated. Like, it is _extremely_ complicated in her mind, but nothing plays out like that. Things just _are_. She doesn’t know what they are, doesn’t know if Ricky’s got feelings for her, or Nini, or anyone at all. Just knows one day Gina’s moving back to SLC and Nini’s moving out, and her and Ricky are picking up like no time ever passed.

They’re getting lunch one day, at this pizza place a few blocks from Ricky’s house, late spring, and things are the weird-not-weird that Gina’s become accustomed to. Because, this looks like, sounds like, _feels like_ a date. As lots of their hang-outs do. But Gina just sits and eats her pizza and lets him pay for it and minds her business, like always.

He’s being a good friend, right? That’s what good friends do. Bros. Chillin’ on a pizza date.

“So, prom next month,” Ricky smirks at her over the top of the pizza between them, “Totally unrelated… but will Ashlyn be home tomorrow between the hours of 3 and 6pm?”

“What are you talking about?” Gina scoffs, “Also, pass me another napkin, this is three parts grease, one part actual pizza,” she toys with the slice on her flimsy white paper plate.

“ _Prom_ , Red’s been planning this stupidly adorable way to ask her, I’ve vetoed at least 12 bad ideas, but I think she’s gonna like this one—“

“Wait, didn’t we just do a dance? There’s another one?”

“Gina Porter, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Prom?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of Prom, but at my last high school, it was just for like seniors, so I assumed I was off the hook for this one.”

“Seniors _and juniors_ ,” Ricky says, tossing her a napkin across the table.

“Okay, and I’m a sophomore.”

“But I’m a junior.”

“Not getting the correlation here, Rick, you know I’m bad at math— oh.”

Yeah, there it is. Complicated.

“Yeah.”

“What about Nini?”

“What _about_ Nini?”

“I don’t know,” Gina mumbles, her face hot and her feet swinging under the booth, playing with the cheese at the end of her greasy slice on the table, “Isn’t that something super romantic and cheesy you guys would do, like have her surprise you here or something?”

“Gin, this isn’t _High School Musical 3_ ,” he laughs nervously.

“You’ve never seen that movie.”

“Stop avoiding my question.”

“I’ll stop avoiding yours when you stop avoiding mine,” Gina says, eyes stern, because two can play at this game, Ricky Bowen, King of Complicated.

He sighs, big and loud, like he did to dramatically cool off his slice of pizza when they’d gotten it earlier.

“Nini and I,” he purses his lips, “No, scratch that, because theres not really even a Nini and I.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“What did you hear?”

“Not much, something about that dog tag you always wear, and a song, and I don’t know, Nini and I are kind of friends, oddly enough, and nothing really makes sense about the whole situation,” Gina shakes her head, her eyes squinted, confused.

“You haven’t heard much because there isn’t much. Period.”

She wants to laugh at his use of the word ‘period’, but refrains, given the weight of the way he’s looking at her right now, “What do you mean?”

“I told Nini that I love her, because she deserved to hear it. She kind of changed everything for me, when I was younger, and maybe I’ll always love her, but not really the way you’re supposed to love the person you’re dating. So we’re not,” he coughs uncomfortably, “Dating, I mean.”

“I don’t really get it,” Gina says dumbly, because she doesn’t. Really. You don’t spend months trying to win a girl back, just to do that, _literally win her back_ , and make out with her in a dressing room after telling her you love her just to not doing anything with it.

“Me either, really,” he gulps, “My mom said this thing to me, right before you found me that night, at the show, about people changing, relationships changing, and I don’t know. I was really mad at her that night, so I didn’t wanna listen.”

“But things changed?” Gina whispers, her eyes on his, hopefully.

“Yeah, they did,” he nods, “We’re cool, she’s been my best friends for years, that didn’t change.”

“And here I thought _I_ was your best friend,” Gina adds some levity to the situation, because Ricky Bowen Sad Eyes is not sitting well with her soul right now, never does. Or maybe it’s just this greasy slice of pizza.

He shakes his head in answer.

“You’re my person, right?”

Gina crawls her fingers across the table, taps them in the palm of Ricky’s outstretched hand, “No questions asked.”

“Okay, but I _am_ going to ask you a question now, and I would like a positive answer.”

“I’ll try,” she shrugs.

“Gina Porter, will you let me take you to Prom?”

“No.”

“What!”

“You’re Troy Bolton, I’m not accepting anything other than a Troy level ask here.”

“You’re kidding,” he scoffs, leans back in his seat, his foot swinging under the table and ankles wrapping around Gina’s.

“I’m not,” she giggles, totally kidding, “You wanna meet me on the roof garden, tomorrow before class?”

“What? Why? We have a rooftop garden?”

“Oh my god, you really never have seen the third movie, huh?”

“Wanna come back to my house and change that?”

Gina’s gotten used to Red’s orange car over the past few months. Ricky drives her almost everywhere in it. Her phone has a permanent place on aux, the sticky pleather passenger seat feels like home, and Ricky’s driving has gotten surprisingly better.

He pulls up to his house and Gina runs for the door, another place that feels like home. Funny, how when she lived here and had her own home, nothing felt right. But now, she’s gotten dozens of places that she fits right in. She kicks her shoes off by the door before throwing herself on Ricky’s living room couch.

“Queue it up, Bowen,” she tosses Ricky the remote, as he steps into the room, “Lets get our senior year musical on.”

“I’m gonna hate this, aren’t I?” He smirks, finding a spot on the end of the couch, Gina’s head next to his lap, one of his hands already instinctively running soothing patterns through her hair. She looks up at him as he starts, but his eyes are fixed only on pulling the movie up on the screen, like he hasn’t even noticed the habit.

She’s so far gone, truly. At least that part isn’t complicated at all. Her feelings for Ricky Bowen are clear as day. Always have been.

“It’s a good movie,” she hums, “And it’s gonna be even better now that you have me here to sing along to every word.”

“Maybe I should just nap, and you can wake me up when Zac Efron asks Gabriella to prom.”

“And to think, I called you a _theater kid_ , after _that_ statement.”

Gina enjoys the beginning of the movie, Ricky exasperated only 3 minutes in because _of course they’re already singing, another dramatic basketball song_ , and he’s mad another minute later when Gabriella appears in a sea of red and white placards in the bleachers.

“Are you saying _you don’t_ hallucinate your girlfriend singing angelically to you when you fall down during the basketball championship game?”

“I don’t know what was more frightening in that sentence, you singing to me in my head, or me playing basketball?”

Was that—? Did he just—? Is she—?

“I basically sing to you all the time anyway, so I don’t see a problem,” she tries to play it off, because _surely_ he did not just insinuate that she, Gina Porter, was his girlfriend, when not even 20 minutes ago she was still convinced he was madly in love with his ex.

“This is true,” he nods, “You also always sound pretty angelic, in real life, not just dream sequences.”

“I think that was a compliment so, thank you?” She quirks an eyebrow up at him, but he just shushes her back to snuggling her head into his side.

“Shh, I’m missing major plot points here,” he nods up at the screen and Gina complies.

She avoids any other near-death crises until the scene, you know, _the scene_ , the “Can I Have This Dance?” scene that is literally the reason she’s making him watch the movie in the first place.

“Oh, oh, this is it,” he taps her excitedly, like a little kid, and Gina moves from her comfortable position laying at his side to sit up with him, just as Gabriella is pulling Troy up to their secret rooftop hiding space.

“Are they gonna do another monologue about kids in Kindergarten, because honestly, I thought that was kinda overdone in the first one,” Ricky whispers towards Gina, and she swats him away.

“Will you be quiet for one minute and just bask in modern romance at its finest?”

Gina watches the screen, watches Troy whip out two glossy prom tickets in front of Gabriella, watches her blush, all while Ricky Bowen is sitting here, staring at the side of her face aiming heart eyes at her.

_Not a rom-com, not a rom-com, not a rom-com…_ _right?_

“Oh, here comes the unexplainable music, and the choreography that they both magically know.”

“True love defies all logic, Ricky!”

“So you’re telling me, when I’m in love with someone, we’ll be able to just, up and waltz around East High’s rooftop garden?” He jokes, his eyes twinkling above her.

“In theory, yes.”

“Are we gonna test this theory?”

Gina gapes at him, as he pushes up on his feet to standing, and holds one hand out to her, like homecoming in the parking lot, all those months ago.

He quirks his eyebrows up, eyes wide, and stretches his hand an inch closer to her, and it’s not like she’s ever been able to avoid these colossally stupid decisions.

She grabs his hand.

“I’m gonna hate this, aren’t I?”

“I’m just following _your_ orders,” Ricky says smugly, pulling Gina almost flush against his body, but his eyes trained on the TV screen. After a moment he almost yelps in surprise, “Oh, oh, we’re spinning! We’re spinning!”

Gina laughs at his excitement, but follows his wobbly lead and steps in a mismatched rhythm in a circle in front of the TV, trying not to let the hand on her waist distract her too much.

“Three steps at a time, dude, look, _one two three_ , _one two three_ ,” she says softly, her eyes watching their feet, trying to will Ricky to follow her.

“I thought we were supposed to count to eight?” He’s laughing, trying to keep up with her, but paying more attention to Zac Efron on the screen, “Oh my god, did you see that lift?”

“Ricky don’t you dare—“

“Nope, let’s go, we’re _soarin’ flying_ , baby!” He teases, and without a moment’s notice wraps his arms around Gina’s waist and spins her, her feet lifting off the ground. He catches her ridiculous giggles in the crook of his neck, and goes for round two.

“That was severely less graceful than I think you intended,” she laughs, still breathless, just as Ricky jumps up to stand on the couch, his hand gesturing for her to join again.

“Hurry up, we missed the twirl!” His hand makes a grabby motion, and Gina gives in, hopping up to join him, and wobbling on the plush cushion when Ricky immediately tries to spin her, “ _It’s one in a million the chances of feeling the waaaay weee dooo_ ,” he sings, a little off key but wildly full of heart, so much so that Gina can’t stop starting at anything _but_ him.

But he’s trying so hard and no matter how hard she tries to convince herself her childhood crush on Zac Efron still exists, her feelings for Ricky Bowen consume her, and so she sings along with him, “ _And with eeeeveryyyy step together_.”

She can’t finish the lyric because she’s suddenly being spun off her feet, bridal style, “Oh my god, Ricky!”

“So can I have this dance?” He smirks, smile a little crooked like his messy curls, rests his forehead on Gina’s once she’s found her footing again.

She forgets herself for a moment, forgets he’s singing the song and not just asking her, so she whispers a light and hopeful, “Yes.”

The boy in front of her beams before whisking her into the next part of the choreography, “You expect me to just _know_ all that fancy footwork? Just like that?”

“I’ll take what I can get here, Bowen.”

“Oh my god, is she for real?” Ricky gapes at the screen, watching Troy spin Gabriella in some pose Ricky yells is weirdly reminiscent of a gazelle or something, and Gina’s sure she’s never had someone in her life that makes her laugh like this, so constantly and wholly.

She feels joy from the tips of her toes that are being stepped on to the very top of her head resting under his chin, and oh my god if this is not a rom-com then why does she feel like this, _all the time_?

“This was not as easy as you promised me,” he whispers into the top of her hair, swaying them gently on the carpet, the song about to die out.

“Really?”

“Of course you thought it was easy.”

“I think most things are easier when I’m with you.”

She doesn’t even process saying it, doesn’t feel the way her breath ghosts over his old gray sweatshirt and make his heart rate speed up.

What she does feel is Ricky’s hands on her cheeks, holding her face steady in front of his, the slight way he rubs one thumb over her cheekbone and the nervous tap of his toes that are still kind of stepping on her feet.

She would, for at least the twenty seventh time in her life, kiss him right there, on the spot. Reach up ever so slightly on her tip toes, being crushed under his two giant left feet, and watch his eyelashes flutter before placing her lips gently on his.

She knows she would do it, absolutely, and she’s even more confident right now than she’s ever been about the fact that Ricky would do it too.

But things are complicated in her head, and this is _not_ a rom-com.

She turns her head at the last second and watches rain start to pour on the protagonists of the movie on their screen, and Ricky follows with a scoff.

“And now it’s raining? No way!”

“ _Let it rain, let it pou_ r, Ricky.”

_What we have is worth fighting for_. Gina knows things will uncomplicated themselves eventually. And then she’ll kiss him. Maybe even in the rain.

“Hey, Rick, I was thinking— oh, hi, Gina!” Gina drops her hands from Ricky’s waist, and also drops her intense heart eyes, at the sound of Ricky’s dad coming into the house.

“Hey, Mr. Bowen,” she shrugs, swiping her hands nervously on the back of her legs.

“Ricky, I thought we talked about getting your friends to think I’m the cool dad,” the older man laughs, before smiling at Gina, “Please, it’s just Mike.”

“Yeah, dad, but talking about it and actually living it are two different things,” Ricky points.

“I think you’re plenty cool, _Mike_ ,” Gina teases at Ricky, and his dad beams.

“I knew I always liked you for a reason, Gina,” he says, dropping his wallet on the kitchen counter, “I was thinking of getting wings for dinner, but now that Gina’s here, I think we’ll have to go with her favorite Chinese take-out.”

“The favoritism, under _my own roof!_ ” Ricky feigns annoyance, and Gina just laughs, kicking at the carpet under her feet.

“What’s this, don’t tell me you got Ricky into another musical?” Ricky’s dad wanders over and sits on the furthest spot on the couch, looking at the screen, “He already plays that other one around the house, practically all the time.”

“It’s _High School Musical 3_ , dad, and I’m learning it’s basically modern romance at its finest,” Ricky teases, nudging Gina with one elbow.

“They made _three_ of those?” Ricky’s dad laughs, “Alright when’s the show? How high in the air are you gonna levitate this time _Troy?”_

_“_ No, we’re not doing the show, I was just showing Ricky here how to really ask a girl to Prom,” Gina smirks, returning the jab.

“Oh yeah, prom, you know my— I mean, _Miss Jenn,”_ and they both laugh at the cover-up, “Said they asked her to chaperone. You kids going?”

“I don’t know, Gina, _are we_ going?”

Ricky’s voice is light and playful, but his eyes are locked just on her, and there’s a considerable amount of distance between them but it feels anything but. Her feelings for Ricky Bowen are suffocating.

So she lets out a large breath, rolls her eyes and says, “Yeah, we’re going,” like this isn’t the most fantastic thing to happen to her in years.

Ricky practically squeals in delight and lunges at her with a bear hug, his arms squeezing around d her shoulders before he lifts her off her feet again in a spin.

“ _That_ was how you asked her? Wow, Ricky, I know you did not get your game from me.”

“Oh yeah, dad?” Ricky quips, taking gina, mid spin and placing them both back on the couch to resume the movie, “Should I go ask _your Miss Jenn_ about that?”

The guys beside her playfully bicker as Gina sits back into the cushion, one knee tucked into her chest, and a hand she didn’t even realize was still laces between Ricky’s fingers.

Gina’s never felt so at home.

_Roll credits_.

_**4\. The Skatepark** _

“Ricky, _please_ be careful!”

“I’m being careful!”

“No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! Red, dude, back me up here!”

“No, you’re not,” Red shrugs in his spot, next to Gina on the steps of the skatepark.

“ _Seriously_ dude?” Ricky flips his skateboard up and gapes at his friends, eyes wide, just as Gina triumphantly high-fives him, “My own best friend?”

“Gina’s my best friend now,” Red says, only semi-jokingly, as Ricky tucks his skateboard under one arm and walks over to join them.

“And Red’s mine,” Gina smirks as Ricky catches her eyes, “Sorry.”

“You’re _not_ forgiven, oh my god, I come to the skate park and suddenly lose all my friends?”

“I’ll be your best friend, Ricky!”

“Thank you, Ashlyn!” Ricky sighs at the red head sitting on Big Red’s left, who smiles at him.

“Looked pretty safe to me.”

“See?” Ricky points, “Red, seriously, your girlfriend is _awesome_.”

“Yeah, so is yours, dude,” Red says and oh my god. Gina’s never heard a skatepark this silent. The only sound between the four of them for the next few seconds is Ashlyn chewing a piece of gum. And some punk middle schoolers falling off their skateboards across the park.

“Well, would you look at the time?” Ashlyn looks down at her wrist for a watch that isn’t there, laughing nervously, “Red, do you wanna—“

“Yes, yeah, mhm, let’s go, do that,” Red shuffles under his feet awkwardly, grabbing his board and his helmet and jumping up the stairs two at a time, “You guys—“

“Yeah, I’ll see you at home, Ash,” Gina waves lamely. Ricky kicks at the step he’s standing on, eyes not looking up until Red and Ashlyn are long gone.

This is not the first time it’s happened, someone accidentally referring to Ricky and Gina as, well, _Ricky and Gina_ , and sucking all the air out of the place in the process.

They’ve never had the conversation. And part of Gina is sure they never will. Avoid commitment like the plague, that’s them, _Ricky and Gina._

Rules are different over the summer. Gina doesn’t see Ricky every day because of school, she sees him every day because he _wants_ to see her. He’s _choosing her_.

In her heart she knows that, logically, but there’s something about Nini coming back from Denver and deciding to spend her senior year at East High that makes Gina less certain. And on top of it all, her Mom found a job in Utah, and EJ’s leaving for college, and _everything is changing_. So sue her for thinking Ricky might change with it.

She’s not going to break her own heart over it. Not when they’re both perfectly happy _avoiding_. Because rules are different in the summer and rules are different doing whatever it is that they’re doing now.

_“_ It didn’t actually look _that_ unsafe,” Gina tries to break the silence, just as the gang of middle schoolers runs past them.

“Yeah, it did,” he admits, still not quite looking at her, still _avoiding_.

“Maybe a little,” she shrugs, hoping to see him crack a smile.

And he does, “Couldn’t back me up in front of my friends, huh?”

“And ruin my reputation of thinking you are a colossal dumbass 24/7? No thanks,” Gina jokes, standing up so that they’re eye-level on the steps, the rest of the park now empty.

“Well, now that you have no one here to impress,” he looks up slightly, “Do you wanna learn some very easy, totally safe skate tricks from your colossally stupid b—“

_Boyfriend_ , she knows he’s about to drop the b-word. But self-preservation beckons! The show must go on! She deflects:

“I don’t skateboard.”

“Do _not_ make me make another _High School Musical_ reference, Gina!”

“Shut up,” she huffs, but she’s still smiling, her arms swinging at her side as Ricky animatedly hums the tune of _‘_ ’I Don’t Dance’.

“C’mon, it’s _just_ like dancing!”

“Skateboarding is like _dancing?”_ She asks, amused, when Ricky catches her hand with one of his own.

“Yeah, it takes balance, coordination, a little rhythm,” he shimmies his shoulders and earns another laugh from Gina, “You’ll be amazing at it.”

“You think I’m amazing at everything,” she rolls her eyes.

“Because it’s true!” His eyes are wide and bright, but serious, “Just a few minutes, _please_ , Gina Porter, my best girl in all of Utah, probably the entire world.”

“Well, I don’t know how you expect me to say _no_ to that…”

“Yes, yes, you’re not gonna regret this, I promise,” Ricky pulls Gina down the stairs, beaming, and Gina almost trips from the sheer force of his excitement. Seeing Ricky gush about the things he loves will never cease to make Gina’s heart do this awful pitter patter thing. Because When Ricky is passionate about something, it takes over him. He’s so invested, and genuinely excited that it’s hard not to be excited with him. At least, it is for Gina. But maybe that’s because _Ricky_ is something _she_ is extremely passionate about.

He skips them over to the middle of the rink, the whole place empty now, getting late into the night, and plops the wheels of his board down in front of Gina, “Have you ever been on a skateboard before?”

Gina tilts her ear to one shoulder as she thinks, “Hm, I think there was one time in like, fifth grade. I was trying to impress this boy I liked.”

“No!”

“Yeah, not one of my finer moments,” she laughs, “But I guess history really does repeat itself.”

Trying to impress a boy she liked on a skateboard, _classic_ Gina Porter.

“Did you get the guy?”

“Why do you wanna know?” She teases, stepping tentatively onto the board, wobbling just a little.

“Just trying to see what kind of history we’re repeating here,” he smirks, catching Gina from rolling forward by linking onto her left arm, “Here, we’ll start simple, hold onto my hands and I’ll pull you.”

“And this is safe?”

“I won’t let you fall, I _promise_.”

Gina holds both of Ricky’s hands in front of her, and with a gentle tug, feels the board roll forward in his direction. It’s a feeling surprisingly not unfamiliar to Gina, as it’s oddly reminiscent of the swooping-sliding feeling she gets every time Ricky smiles in her direction.

As if on cue, Ricky smiles up at her, walking backwards and looking at his board, “Look at you! You’re a natural!”

“You have no idea how much core strength I am using to stay upright right now.”

“I’m gonna let go now…”

“Ricky, don’t you _dare_ ,” Gina yelps, pulling his hands closer to her, squeezing his fingers and her eyes shut, “This is awful.”

“Should I count down from 3, or do a little 5-6-7-8 action for Miss Gina Ballerina?”

Her heart leaps, jumps, pirouettes and jetes around her ribcage at the nickname, distracting her almost enough to miss the little running start Ricky gives her before he counts up.

“5, 6, 7… 8!” And with a yell, he lets go of Gina’s hands and steps to the side, letting her roll slowly towards the ramp.

Gina lasts all of another 3 counts before wobbling, squealing, and catching herself falling off the board.

“That was—“ Gina stands, breathless, as Ricky dissolves into laugher a few feet behind her, “Awful! Never doing it again.”

“C’mon, I have so many more tricks!”

“Nope,” she wipes her sweaty hands on her jeans and runs to catch the board that’s rolling slowly to a stop, “Saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“How do you think I feel when you make me dance?”

“It’s totally different!”

“Not at all,” Ricky says, picking up the board behind her. When he stands up, their faces are only inches apart from each other, and Gina has never hated her vow to _actively avoid at all costs_ more than she does right now.

She watches his little dimple quirk up when he smiles, “Two more tricks?”

“Fine,” she gives in, “Though, I wouldn’t really call whatever you just made me do a ‘trick’.”

“Ask and you shall receive, Gina,” he mocks, tossing his board down again, “I will up the trickery for round two.”

“I take it back, just let me roll again.”

“No, no, c’mon, you stand on the front of the board,” Ricky points, “Hold onto my waist and I’ll do all the work.”

“Why do I have an awful feeling about this?” Gina laughs nervously, and not because of the trick. The most awful part about the whole thing seems to be that she’ll be standing with virtually no space between her and Ricky, arms around his waist, and have to pretend like it’s not affecting her in the slightest.

“You’re gonna _love_ it,” Ricky slots his chin into the crook of her neck, pulls her flush to his body on the small skateboard, and _holy shit this is affecting her_. She lets out a shaky breath just as he says, the smirk in his voice evident, “You ready?”

She’s lost the ability to form real English words, so she just nods, and with her approval he pushes one foot off the ground and starts moving them.

And it is terrifying, horrible, awful _, nothing_ like dancing, but her heart’s beating as fast as if she just finished an intense dance break, and her adrenaline is at an all-time high and Ricky’s cheering loudly in her ear, so maybe it’s something like it. The way she doesn’t scream that she’s in love with him when she physically _feels_ his giggle when they go up about two inches on the ramp— now _that_ is the performance of a lifetime. She’s never acted so amazingly in her whole life. The way he swerves them side to side on the skate to the other side and she has to refrain from kissing the top of his curls— she’s prepping her Academy Award acceptance speech right then. Her life may not be a movie but she is making acting her bitch right now. Because it is so goddamn hard to act like she’s not in love with Ricky Bowen when she knows she has been for the better part of a year.

“Think we can make it up the ramp this time?” He laughs, and is voice in her ear is electric, ecstatic, exhilarating, more so than any skate trick could possibly be.

“Absolutely not,” she responds, because it’s not possible really, they’ve been going at this for at least 20 minutes, laughing like idiots between runs, “But something tells me you’re gonna try anyway.”

“You know me so well,” he says with one last laugh, before they start skating across the flat of the ramp again and…

They don’t make it very far before even master skater Ricky loses his balance, and mid-trip they both collide with the bottom of the ramp.

“Noooo, we were doing so good!” Ricky drawls, rolling onto one side to face Gina, who’s laying down in defeat, her laughter loud and infectious.

“You call _that_ good?” She tilts her head towards him, trying to catch her breath, but succumbing to another round of giggles when Ricky eyes her, “I’d hate to see a bad skate.”

“I’ve never skated bad once in my life,” Ricky boasts proudly, sticking his chin in the air before sliding to lay down next to Gina.

“Never?”

“Nope,” he says, a pop in the ‘p’.

“I find that very hard to believe,” she shakes her head, and their faces are so close together, giggling on the floor of the skatepark that her nose actually nudges his, and on a whim of adrenaline, she mimics the motion again. Just for the little thrill of seeing Ricky’s cheeks flush that close to her.

“And we don’t even have any friends around for you to be hating me like this,” and boy, is he flirting with something dangerous here, because he does it _again_ , inches their faces close enough to touch and even links his pinky around hers.

Her insides are giddy with excitement, at the buzz of contact with him, but she schools her face to remain cool, unaffected, “Hate’s a strong word.”

“So you _don’t_ hate me?”

“Not exactly,” she whispers, and can someone start up the romantic ballad in here? Because his eyes are doing The Thing.

“So if it’s not hate,” he starts, “What is it?”

Time is moving really slowly in that moment, she feels every bit of breath inhale, exhale, it’s like he blinks in slow motion, just so she can count his eyelashes, it’s quiet, and loud, and it’s so so hard to be _Ricky and Gina_ and avoid.

But she tries, clears her throat and looks up and away, “Uh, don’t you have a third trick to show me?”

“Right, right, yeah,” he follows suit, trains his eyes up, but after a second, she feels him staring again, “Okay, how much do you trust me?”

“Too much,” she laughs.

“Cool, okay, so can I try something?” He’s nervous, fidgety, and Gina’s trying not to notice.

“How dangerous is it?” And she’s teasing him again, but now he’s sitting up and he’s running a hand through his hair.

“My most dangerous one tonight,” there’s a little smile on the corner of his mouth, “I’ve got a lot to lose.”

_Your life is not a movie._

“I trust you. Completely. No questions asked.”

“Okay,” he says softly, then with a little more confidence, echoes, “Okay, yeah, let’s do it. You’re gonna have to sit up.”

“What kind of trick is this?” She says, joining him.

“You’ll see, uh, c’mere, face me,” he twists on his knees, squaring his shoulders towards her, and she tentatively turns to face him, legs crossed.

“Don’t we need the skateboard?” She’s distracted, looking funnily at the board flipped over a few feet from them, doesn’t even feel him hold one of her hands.

“Not right now, we’ll get there, just, put one hand here,” he nods, moving her hand to his shoulder, “And then I’ll just…” He scoots up on his knees, tucks the palm of his hand against her cheek.

“Ricky—“

“Shh, this trick takes,” he lets out a large breath, “A lot of concentration.”

She hums in response, watches his eyes trace ever part of her face, god, how many times she’d spent doing the same thing to him, just looking, memorizing, knowing Ricky Bowen in any way she could.

“Close your eyes?” He’s so nervous, so nervous it tears Gina apart inside, and he’s gotta stop writing this shit like it’s a rom com, because it’s not, it’s not a rom com, that fact has been the only constant in Gina’s rapidly changing life, and so for him to pull this stunt, and for her to let it happen, it’s just so, colossally stupid.

She closes her eyes.

Colossally stupid is becoming her middle name.

“You’re not gonna let me fall, right?”

“No promises.”

And yeah, she falls.

She falls hard and fast, as fast as Ricky leans forward and presses his lips to hers.

Ricky Bowen kisses her, Gina Porter, on a summer night in the skatepark at night, his hand in her hair and her arms slung around his neck, pulling him closer like the credits are about to roll.

Ricky Bowen kisses her, Gina Porter for a second time, before she even gets to open her eyes, because all she hears is his shallow breath before he’s leaning back in, more confidence this time with her body pulled flush against his.

Ricky Bowen kisses her, Gina Porter, between a little giggle when she kicks his skateboard at their feet and it rolls away. He kisses her with his hands covering the blush on her cheeks, she kisses him to wipe that stupid trademark smirk off his face. She kisses him once, he kisses her twice, she’s not really sure where they’re at when she finally opens her eyes, holds his forehead against hers, and admits falling doesn’t sound like the worst option in the world.

“That was the worst skating trick I’ve ever seen, Bowen.”

_**5\. Homecoming (Again)** _

“ _This feelings like no other!_ “

“ _I want you to knoooooow…_.”

“ _I’ve never had someone that knows me like you do_ — hit the high note, Ricky—“

“ _The way you doooooo_!”

“No, my ears!” Gina pulls her imaginary hand mic back from her boyfriend’s face, clutches her hands to her ears instead while he sings terribly off key and drives even more terribly in his little orange buggy.

“ _So lonely before_ , c’mon its a duet, Gin!”

She grumbles in her seat, arms crossed at her chest, before pushing his puppy dog eyes away from her, “Eyes on the road, Wildcat.”

“Have we not gone over how frail and fragile my ego is?”

“Save it, I wanna get to Homecoming in one piece, thank you,” Gina kicks her heels on the bottom of her seat.

“You at least gotta join me for the ‘doo doo do doo’s, babe.”

“I’m not—“

“ _Doo doo do doo, doo doo do do doo doo_ ,” Ricky’s smile takes over his entire face as he follows her lead and extends a hand to her like he’s holding a microphone.

And really, when she said she wanted to date the guy this was not what she had in mind.

“ _A-woah-oh-oh-ooh_!”

“Yes!”

Ricky yelps before returning both hands to the wheel, and the way he beams, you’d never know Gina just sang that with an eyeroll and a teasing glare.

“How cheesy would it be—“

“Don’t say it, Rick…”

“—to tell you that you, Gina Porter, are what I’ve been looking for?”

“I said don’t do it,” she warns, but the way he’s still cheesing at her, eyes all squinted like he’s trying to make room for a bigger smile and it’s just not possible, really, it’s not her fault that he just looks _so kissable_. She leans over the console and places a neat kiss on his cheek.

“I am not going to be the reason we don’t get to the dance in one piece.”

Gina just chuckles lightly in her seat, skipping to the next song on her phone and humming along until they pull into the East High parking lot.

“We’re here,” Ricky says, putting the car in park and turning off the engine.

“Gee, don’t sound too excited there,” she teases, nudging his shoulder, “If you didn’t wanna come you know you could’ve just said so. I love hanging out with your dad.”

“No, no, I wanted to come, it’s just,” he huffs, turns to face her over the center console. His eyes soften, scanning her face, before pulling her towards him and kissing her soundly.

“Okay, I’m not opposed to what’s happening,” she traces her thumb across his jaw, laughing lightly, “But I feel like there’s something you wanna say that goes along with that very nice kiss.”

“Oh was it a very nice kiss?” He quirks, his nose all scrunched and adorable and yeah, we have readily established several times over just how _gone_ Gina is for this boy so it shouldn’t be a surprise how much this tiny little thing affects her.

“I don’t know, maybe you should do it again and I can reevaluate?”

“Oh yeah, okay,” he smiles, and kisses her again, and again.

“We gonna talk about it yet, or…” Gina whispers in the space between them when he pulls away the third time, and he sighs back in his seat, a defeated hand going to the door handle with an eye roll.

“Why do you think there’s something to talk about?”

“Because I _know you_ ,” she says simply, because _she does_ , following him out her passenger seat door, shrugging her purple coat to her chest as she spots him above the top of the car, “I get it. Something’s bothering you.”

“It’s not bothering me.”

“Well,” she sighs, starting towards the school’s entrance, “If it’s not that important then we can head inside, just don’t let it ruin your night, because I heard Ashlyn was gonna—“

“I wanna dance with you.”

“Did you, like, hit your head on the car door on your way out or something?” Gina laughs, stopping and spinning around abruptly to face him, where he stands, still next to their car on the white line of the empty park space to his left. “We’re going to a _dance_ , Ricky. We can dance, I promise—“

“No, I mean, I wanna dance with you here,” he gestures vaguely around him, his face vulnerable and determined, “Cause I know when we get in there I’m gonna have to listen to Carlos make fun of my jazz squares and how I can’t count to eight, and I’m gonna have to help Nini get punch out of the dress she bought to impress this girl she’s been crushing on and I’m gonna get cornered by Miss Jenn somewhere so she can talk about whatever musical she’s roping me into next and I just—“ he let’s out a big, loud exhale, holds one hand out to Gina, “I wanna have one dance, here, with you and no one else, in the spot where a year ago, I fell in love with you.”

Oh well, now _this_ was an interesting development. To put it lightly.

“Ricky—“

“I fell in love with you, Gina, I didn’t mean to, honestly, no offense,” he runs a hand through his hair nervously, “But you showed up, with your bouncy curls and impossible spinny things—“

“Pirouettes.”

“Whatever!” Ricky yells and Gina laughs, “You showed up, and you had me. Day one. Didn’t even give me time to count to eight,” he’s smiling now, and Gina’s fingers are buzzing in the pockets of her coat, “I’ve been tripping over my two dumb left feet for you every day, Gina. Ever since you had me doing the chicken dance in the parking lot at the worst school dance of my life.”

She sighs, remembering that night, how it felt kinda like the worst school dance in her life too, until he hit her in the side with his dumb ‘chicken wings’.

“I’ve never really been good with words, and I spent so long trying to be good at them,” he looks down at his feet, and Gina thinks of the Ricky a year ago, still hung up on that fact that he couldn’t say those three little words, “But with you, Gina, I have never had to worry about saying the right thing, or saying anything at all. Because you’re my person. You get it.”

“No questions asked,” she whispers, mostly to herself, because if she spoke any louder he’d hear in her voice that she was on the verge of tears.

“And the funny thing is, when I stopped trying to find the words, the words found me,” Ricky laughs, “That was awful, just like, the cheesiest thing I’ve _ever_ said, god, I’m being such a theater kid right now, huh?”

“Little dramatic,” she shrugs, nudging her cheek against her shoulder to wipe one rogue tear, “But it’s okay, I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“I love you,” Ricky says, “Easiest three words I’ve ever said to you. And now I really wanna dance with you in this empty parking spot,” he kicks at the loose gravel where he’s standing, before sending Gina a little lopsided smile, “I parked kinda crooked so that no one would take this spot next to us, in case I chickened out on this little speech and had to do it at the end of the dance.”

Gina waits for his nervous hand to reach towards her, and it feels like the _smartest_ decision she’s ever made to grab it.

“What are we dancing to tonight, sir?”

“Do Troy and Taylor have any songs together?”

“Don’t think so,” Gina laughs, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and pressing her body against his, “But that’s okay, we can just write one ourselves.”

“And I will now make my guitar magically appear!”

Gina can’t help her giggle, drops her laughter into the crook of his neck as Ricky starts swaying them silently in the empty East High parking lot.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and feels Ricky look down at her confused, “Last year, you thanked me, but uh, I think I owe you one too.”

He runs a soothing hand across her back, “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Oh, that was it, the thank you.”

She wants to bottle that laughter up.

“I also love you,” she adds, like an afterthought, and it makes him laugh again, “If that was not clear, I’ve basically been in love with you forever.”

“Forever, huh?”

“You’re like Troy Bolton reincarnated, you just swoop in with that floppy hair and your dreamy eyes and you can’t expect everyone you make eye contact with to not _instantly_ start writing their marriage vows.”

“Oh my god,” he drops a laugh on the top of her hair and hugs her closer, still swaying slowly.

“This is gonna sound super dumb, but you make my life feel like the worst rom-com ever written.”

“See now, if it was the _best_ rom-com we’d have an issue.”

And oh my god, she loves him. She loves him, she loves him, _she loves him_.

It might be for the best that her life isn’t a movie, because if it’s not, she gets to watch herself fall in love with Ricky Bowen for a lot longer than an hour and thirty minutes. She’s got years and years of it.

“Okay, c’mon, I missed the flash mob last year, I’m not missing it again,” she grabs his hand and drags him, running, towards the entrance of the school, her curls flopping behind her and his smile getting sucked into her skin like it’s the reason she can breathe.

“Do I have to participate in this dance? Because god knows I still have not recovered from that jazz square choreography you tried to throw at me when Miss Jenn was getting fired!”

And you know, it’s a crowd favorite, everyone loves a good happy ending.


End file.
